Sliver of Silver
by QuantaSaudade
Summary: The first thing he set his eyes after waking up, fragments of memories torturing him; her laugh, her eyes, her face, the skies. Will he ever find her again?
1. Fighting the Immortal Italian Dog

Chapter I – Fighting the Immortal Italian Dog

* * *

Darkness, at first. Hopelessness ensnared his heart and mind.

Then, from the absolute obscurity, sparks of light, like fairies, made themselves know. It was a thing of beauty, a show that rose above anything the human mind could imagine and create - the bright spark into existence, like the birth of a child, the mild happiness and comfort we have around family and friends in moments of sadness; like finally founding love - the pure, the dearest, the selfless desire to see our loved ones happy.

However, the stars, spectacle of nature they may be, were little, compared to the central figure, queen in the skies. Like a sacred embroidery, the sparks served as the attendants and guardians, the crown and the scepter, for the radiating beauty that enchanted him, and made him long for things he had not comprehended yet.

The moon was breathtaking today.

And, despite his torn shirt, despite the mud on his face, despite the veil of blankness on his mind and the heartrending cries of longing of his soul, he stood there, gazing up at the skies.

But, as all things good, fate and inconvenience stopped his Arcadian contemplation. Rather anticlimactic, too. Nevertheless, that was the life of a demigod, a hero - by birth and by deeds.

Low growling was the only warning, before the threatening red blur engaged in bodily fight, its teeth menacing and fast, its body strong and resilient, its eyes... making him stop, in hesitation and confusion, giving enough time for the beast to thrown him in a decayed and burned stone structure which seemed to be held purely by some supernatural defiance.

"Weak. Unworthy." A powerful voice snarled in his head, violent, controlled, demanding respect and inciting fear, stoic and aristocratic, soft and harsh at the same time - a voice from someone rationally confident in their own power. Dare he say it was a little feminine? "You are not deserving even of the curse you bear, Perseus Jackson. Bow to me, godspawn, and you'll have my promise of a dignified death."

Wolves of different sizes and colors surrounded him. His hands went automatically into his pockets, making the red wolf directly in front of the boy growl and tense. But, as he glared at the presence before him, he dropped the pen he was holding. Cold fury overtook him.

Two silver eyes glared back, as if mocking his arrogance and petulance. He did not care, for that sight evoked his anger. The wolf's silver eyes were an insult to him. An irrational feeling, he realized later, but a welcomed one at that moment.

The red fur of the wolf was... off. A quick flash came to him, as a photograph observed quickly, as a squirrel that ran by the vigilance of his peripheral vision: the vision of silver eyes and red hair behind a wooden short bow. A laugh, a cry, a grunt and a protest. It vanished quickly as it came, but it was enough to make him feel energized and eager.

And, marking his arrival into another world, nothing short of disrespectful or foolish could be accepted.

"Come at me, doggie."

Barking, yowling, growling and snarling filled the house. The pack was thirsty for blood. Percy took off his shirt and kicked his flippers.

He ducked the first wolf, which came biting from his right, kicking the second one directly behind it. The third was grabbed by his upper jaw, and sent barreling into two other creatures.

The leader of the pack came as a missile at him, making Percy duck sideways, elbowing the wolf that came for his back.

He kicked, shoved and punched other wolves that came at his limbs and vital points. The red blur, he noted, was the most strategic. It waited for its minions to go for his arms and legs, before trying various other approaches. His calves, his thighs, his neck, his head, his torso - only when he was unprotected.

At the beginning, it felt natural for him. He aimed at the bodies and legs of the wolves when needed, preferring to shove and to dodge - as if it was wrong, for him, to aim for the vitals.

On the other hand, they did not had that reservation. Therefore, he enhanced his attacks. The red wolf seemed to analyze him, waiting.

For minutes, a tornado of white, gray and black fur savaged the house. The center of the attacks moved with velocity, strength, and, what it would appear to the untrained eye, absolute randomness. However, the leader of the pack knew it was not the case.

The minutes ended, some wolves were hiding or crying by the sides. Percy Jackson was forcefully on top of the belly of the silver-eyed wolf, one hand in its throat, the other directly over one of its eyes. The few wolves that insisted on the fight stopped, with their leader dominated.

"Who are you?" Percy Jackson demanded, an infuriating expression of victory, confusion, weariness and curiosity over his face.

The wolf grunted, incapable of moving. Its supernatural eyes glared with anger at the strange boy atop of her - a she-wolf for sure, Percy awkwardly noted. Then, out of nothing, a resounding laugh resonated in his head, and the wolf relaxed.

"Quite right, quite right were their briefings. I underestimated you, Perseus Jackson. For a long time, finally, one of yours that is not weak. Stand down protectors, he passed the test."

"Protectors?" Percy asked unimpressed, his pants absolutely destroyed, his torso and arms pained internally.

"Of the roads of Rome, of course, foolish boy." The wolf snarled. "For only the brave, the resilient and the strong are deserving of the legacy of the Empire."

Percy continued with his irritating unimpressed face, still atop of the wolf. "Okay." For some reason, he felt he already knew about something like that. Not exactly alike, but resembling. "Who are you?"

Suddenly, the wolf began to increase in brightness, and Percy felt his very existence be threatened. He noted golden pools on his arm, dropped from the wolf's injured mouth. "Immortal, eh?" Percy noted her wolves moving closer, the ones to the sides taking tentative steps towards him. 'She must be a minor goddess of healing or something. If her passive power is enough to make her servants heal that fast. Then, why I'm hurting like Hades?'

She-wolf. Immortal. Apparently, a guardian. Roman.

He was - really - stupid sometimes. He got off her and bowed. No use acting tough right now; he was on the brink of unconsciousness, anyway.

"Lupa, Goddess of... wolves, err... Rome? And... Well, I don't know, roads, whatever."

If wolves could appear exasperated, she had the perfect representation for it, etched on her face.

"Perseus Jackson, a fodder, is it? I think the tales of your cunning and ingenious thinking were very inflated. I see." She mused. "But I'll let it pass. Your situation is... comprehensible at least."

He thought he understood what she said. He could not remember his own name immediately. A little desperation should be normal at the moment, but he was too tired for that now. Lupa chuckled.

"Rest hero. You'll have much to learn before you begin your journey." Lupa said nodding him a relatively dry and roofed spot.

But he didn't care for it. Laying in the center of the ruined house, facing the skies, he slept. He took his torn orange shirt, made a makeshift pillow, and closed his eyes...

... only to be violently awakened by growling, at the middle of the night, on his stomach, with Lupa directly over a specific spot on the opposite side of his belly button.

"First lesson, Perseus Jackson. You do not drop your guard on enemy territory. Test the faith and the trust of your soldiers and comrades. For betrayal, albeit unbecoming for a Roman, is natural on the lustful road for power."

Percy slowly and awkwardly looked at Lupa, his green eyes bleary, irritation clearly displayed. He rolled on his back again, looking at the goddess from an uncomfortable angle. "Hm. Thank you." And closed his eyes.

Lupa just stared - this time she was the unimpressed. He was truly different from the other demigods. Never in her service for Rome had she encountered someone like him.

This was not a good thing, for the careless reader, and the Greeks out there.

"Just so you know." The man said, one of his eyes open. "You picked the wrong spot." And winked.

Two silver perplexed and confused eyes were the last thing he saw that night before he entered the realm of Morpheus. He thought he heard someone cursing in Italian, but he would not put it past his imagination to think of something as random as this. Maybe it was Lupa.

The adventure begins, then: a semi-naked man sleeping on the open, talking italian immortal dogs, and some of the weirdest cases of amnesia.

Boy, what could go wrong?

* * *

AN: read the profile for more information.


	2. Mission and Purpose

Chapter II – Mission and Purpose

* * *

Swimming up and down, on a pool that has no end. An ocean.

No. Not like that.

It had borders. He could not see them, but he felt it. As he tried to cross the infernal distance, they seemed to get further. His head was spinning. Like a balloon, he felt the pressure build on his skull, the pain making it seem heavy, the sensation of emptiness making it seem light. Then, he could not support it anymore. He jumped, but he discovered the air was poisonous.

He dove. Ignoring the nail-scratching feeling through his face, he plunged into the deep strange sea.

A light shone at the bottom. His stomach churned, his throat dried out. He tried to scream, but nobody heard him.

He reached the bottom.

There she was, her eyes narrowed, her hair pulled, her brows furrowed and her face furious.

He was sure she was feisty.

He wanted to introduce himself, but he could not remember his name. He rose a cup, but it was full of ichor.

What even was ichor?

A wolf with its mouth bleeding. A man that looked like him, his face covered in gold liquid.

His own hands, stained from it.

He could not ruin the moment. He knew she was important. He opened his mouth and cleaned his arms.

An angry pretty face.

"Hi. I'm…"

SLAP!

"PERSEUS JACKSON!"

He bolted right up, his right hand already gripping a bronze sword. In front of him, still unimpressed, sat the strange red wolf. With his left hand, he contained a yawn.

…

…

…

"You drool when you sleep."

That silver eyes. They remembered him something. He closed his own, trying to remember his dream. Only pain came.

"Your reaction time was far from ideal, Perseus." She walked around him. "Putting it mildly."

He stretched, snapping and clicking parts of the body that should not, definitely, do that.

"What do you mean?"

The red wolf looked up at the skies. "Your laziness is greater than Lord Apollo himself. That boy, always and everyday coming 'just a minute late'. Look at him now, 7am and just now he took his chariot out. Lord Jupiter is becoming soft." She snorted.

Percy blinked. That time thing, certainly, was not right. But who was he to question that, eh?

Truly, who was him?

He remembered his name. Perseus. The wolf and the slap of the faceless girl on his imagination made him sure of it.

Wait. No. This is horrible. Terrible name. Percy sounded a lot better.

Though he remembered someone calling him like that, and his acceptance towards it. Was it the girl of his dreams?

Pain. Only pain came.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Hm. Yeah. Apollo, sure, is behaving poorly."

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. And… gone.

The wolf stared at him imperiously. "At least you are reasonable. Get up, then. Do not inspire yourself by the undesirable traits of the immortals. Get up. And put away the sword, you will have no need for that today."

He glanced at his right hand, as if surprised. Corporal orientation and awareness was not one of his strong points that morning.

It was simple, if looks were to be considered. No engraving, no special design, no intricate pattern. Leather guard, bronze sticky point. Percy decided that he liked it a lot. Almost like a second nature, he put the blue cap he was holding on his left hand on the blade, a perfectly ordinary blue pen on his hand.

"Good use of discretionary equipment. The aura of celestial bronze diminishes as I speak. However, with your blood, it may be the last of your problems. What is your parentage, boy?"

A flash. A fish. A clash. A shout.

Of happiness? Of pain? He could not, for his own good, remember it all.

Was that a delightful squeal?

A hearty laugh of a strong fisher. The soulful hug of a caring mother. Green eyes, brown eyes, a cute nose from a third? And who caught the blowfish?

He did not think Lupa cared much for the ones without bronze tridents.

"Poseidon. King of the Seas, God of the Earthquakes."

Even there, in the midst of nothing but dirt, dog pee and trees, he could feel it. The embrace, the salt, the restlessness, the power. Lupa made an approving noise.

"Almost correct. From now on you must call him Neptune." She sat in front of him, her eyes fixed on his. "Perseus Jackson, you passed the test of the Wolf House. Though harsher than usual, nothing less was expected of you. A great deal more of respect is in order, and, without it, you cannot leave."

She fixed him a glare, a threatening and scary glare.

"I will teach you the names of our gods, their legends and powers. I will teach you to lead, to respect, and to obey. I will teach you no mercy. Weakness will be purged, be it by your efforts or by our claws. Do not expect me to make exceptions, Perseus Jackson. I already had blood more brave and resilient on my teeth than you will ever have in your hand."

She turned back.

"So if you think you are worthy, come with me. If you dare flee, I will give you five minutes."

She turned her face to him.

"Be warned. Never they escaped me."

He shook himself. Not because of fear. He felt… lost, albeit a little angry with himself. He felt, in the middle of nothing, in a ruined house, powerless, hungry, that he was not like that, even with all against his person. This laziness and weakness felt strange to him. Looking at the talking glorified dog, he asked the only thing that mattered.

"Will my memories return?"

The silver eyes softened, if possible. In disgust or sympathy, he would forever be in doubt.

"You know the path that will not return them. I offer you a possibility, a chance to live better and to be useful. Know this hero, you will know harshness, but not injustice from my part."

He needed to know who was the woman of his dreams, the buried face on his consciousness. What about the lady with the curly brown hair? And the little lady?

Snow and bow came to his mind in a mess of the senses.

He saw a deer, a wolf, a moose running at him. From him, with him? Who was the hero to defy that red snake thing?

And, as he felt the memories come and go, he looked at his side, bow in hand, feet on the floor and felt the pressure grow.

Laugh, dodge, shout, dodge, strike, glow.

Red hair, silver eyes, pretty smile. A thing of beauty, to love, to show. To travel the world, without letting go. And she went.

And pain replaced.

But he would not forget. This time, he was sure. She was fuel, she was passion, he would never let her go. Not again. Pain was a minor thing, if he could come back to be her king.

She was his soul, his whole: world, life, meaning, mission.

Pale skin shone brightly with the silver beams of the midnight sky. He does not lie, he missed her. He does not deny, he needed her. He would fly, wherever she may be.

He will cry, the wolf take it as it wants.

Not now, however.

Because now, he had a mission, he would not die. The wolf was just the first, even being an ally.

His sword felt heavy on his pocket, for only a moment. It tasted Ichor, Blood and Tears, he felt. It would taste again, if needed be.

A day, a week, a month, a year.

He will rise, take his prize and hold it tightly.

A chance to see her again, it does not matter when.

It only mattered that he would.

Conviction and might overcame his senses. He followed the wolf, past the house, past the forest, past his flaws. He would be strong, and prepared.

The wolf crouched, and stared, menacingly. The dark-haired one stood tall. The wolf smiled.

'They did not lie, after all.'


	3. Worthiness

Chapter III – Worthiness

* * *

Tall trees filled his view as far as he could register. Snow made its part, decorating, here and there, making contrast, building character and marking the beauty that few postcards could surpass. And, even then, it would not be enough. The pure appreciation of nature can surpass any glass tower or sculpted city you could offer.

Hear the sounds of the trees. The birds, the squirrels, the leaves, the wind.

Hear the sounds of water, a river moving, defying the low temperatures. Water does not like being controlled. It can heal and it can kill. Be careful with it.

Inhale deeply and smell the earth. The smooth top of the stones in the river could tell a story better than most people. Who drank from its water? What gossip could it tell?

Open your eyes, sense the architecture of the divine. How harmonic and alive.

And here, there, everywhere, life sprouts. A bird catching bugs, a howling from afar, a squirrel looking at you, a fish swimming by – he says "Hi!" The trees, old and mysterious, are hiding, sometimes a bear, a deer, a fox, a sliver of silver.

Look here, there, here again, there, there, everywhere.

Right in front of him. A hit.

He cursed, then laughed. She laughed. They were content, being sprawled like that. For she was nowhere, but with him. And he would be anywhere for her.

Through tears, they sailed. In hardships, they prevailed. An unlikely pair they made. But he did not care.

He would go everywhere, for her.

Through hell and back, he was sure. Nothing less, a lot more. And he knew she would the same. After all, with him, she had nothing to gain, but again:

"Did you said something profane?"

A light shone in her eyes. He knew that stare. Anticipation filled him, but he knew they both liked it in the end.

Play the prey. Play the game. Dodge! Again, again. Fly away. Sway and pray, for that silver knife certainly is sharp. That arrow too. Too bad, it was not silver, but bronze.

Bad for her, of course. He had a few tricks too. His aim was terrible but his eagerness made up for it.

The fact he was on a water ball slightly helped too.

They were laughing now, lying by the river shore.

"Nothing bad. For a man." A smile, bright and big. "I loved your plan. But tell me, Perseus," she said getting on top of him. And flashed...

* * *

Percy looked around, metal thrashing and wind roaring into his ears. Shouts. A metalic and deep voice, from underneath him, spoke.

"What did you do in the land without rain?"

A scream.

And he fell.

* * *

He stood immediately. Lupa and a white wolf were by his side, analyzing him cryptically. A brown wolf came with an improvised mug, full of "water". He downed it all.

His eyes closed again. Sleep overtook him.

"Not stolen. Locked. A poor job, I daresay. He cannot access it, but they can influence him. An irresponsible act at best, a dishonorable tactic at worst."

Lupa analyzed the boy and glared at the skies.

"Your recommendations?"

The white wolf snorted.

"Nothing that I can do. And... pardon my meddling, nothing they can do in Rome, if his carrier is responsible for this. Though, my apologies Lupa, I hardly see Lady..."

"Enough. I will not permit your insults and insolence at my house. I'm grateful for your assistance, Histadinus."

But the white wolf remained impassive.

"I was not going to insult the precious ones, Lupa. Years have gone by, and I refrained myself, in your presence of course. I still respect you." He came closer to her. "But you know, as well as I know, about the irresponsible gamble they are making. That you thought I was going to insult them just proves my point. The snout barks which the heart is full, after all."

She growled, her glare stronger. "Do not make me destroy our friendship, Histadinus."

He cowered, his tail between the legs, his head lowered. He backed away. "Of course, my lady." But his eyes betrayed his feelings. "I will go." Lifting his head, he called for the brown wolf. "Stagiarius, come with me!"

Lupa glared up at the skies again, a lightning bolt marring its dawning lights. She did not react, she did not covered herself. She turned her back and retreated to her place.

She was the Guardian of Rome. She relieved the world from the weak and the foolish.

She looked at the boy being tended by her comrades, millions of questions in her head.

Few answers worthy being considered.


	4. Two Flowers

Chapter IV – Two Flowers

* * *

He had a torch on his left hand. In the middle of nothing. Burned fields extended as far as he could see. He hoped he could encounter something that gave him the barest of the remembrances. That was his mind, wasn't it? The ground at his feet crunched, his posture was wary. He was not alone. That he knew.

With his right hand, he uncapped his pen. Gleaming stronger than the torch could ever gleam, Anaklusmos guided his way.

'What belongs to the sea will always return to the sea.' A scruffy and kind face. A professor. A horse.

He inhaled, the smell of the ocean coming to him again. He lifted his sword up, and began to walk, on the direction his heart told him. He dropped the torch.

"Wait!" An urgent voice said. "Do not move!"

Percy turned around. His stance guarded, his eyes looking intently at the figure before him.

A monster. An immortal. A meddler. Lupa had warned him to be careful.

"Your father is being watched. Do not condemn him!"

His eyes made him feel drowsy, weak. All he wanted to do now was to pack the ashes as a pillow and sleep. He dropped his stare, looking at the being's mouth.

He did not want to know what would happen if he slept on his sleep. Because of that, he took a leap, slashing his sword at the creature.

"Look at me!" His voice was pressing. "We do not have much time."

And he made the mistake of doing it. And time stopped. No, it slowed. Percy felt the stranger's hand grabbing his throat, the other hand, a torch coming for his face. He screamed, and screamed. The stranger remained impassive. And then, there was no more.

But, then there was all.

A giant metal colossus stood above him, his bronze sword the size of a school bus, coming down at his figure. He raised his hands, in a futile effort.

"That will not do."

A finger snapped.

This time he was on a forest. No, it was a park. Central Park, Manhattan, New York City. He felt as if he was home, finally.

"Perseus Jackson, I come bearing news, a question, a quest, and an offer." The being said.

Seated at a bench across the pond he was staring, was a man. He was distant, but his voice sounded as if he was at his side. Even from afar, he could feel his eyes drop, his muscles relax, his mind being clouded.

"Who am I, Perseus?"

The answer came to him, like a flash. He grinned at Percy, white smile contrasting with his dark robes and aged face.

"Somnia, God of Dreams."

The figure smile grew.

"Not bad, Perseus, not bad. Extraordinary of you. I thought they had addled and shattered your perceptions. It seems to me that it was not an amateur job, then. You are just naturally headstrong, of course." The figure laughed. "It certainly explains a lot of things. Your famed stupidity is a thing of the legends, for sure."

He began to walk in a straight line towards him. The moment Percy felt his foot touching the water, he rotated in the air, reappearing right in front of him.

His complexion was darker. He was taller and more serious. A plain black overcoat, over a black shirt and pants substituted the black rag he was wearing. His eyes were covered with small black sunglasses, reflecting the confused face of Percy.

"But let's not delve into that, now. I feel this form is more adequate."

A flash of recognition came to Percy.

"Morpheus."

This time he did not laugh.

"Perseus Jackson, I come with a warning. Forces stronger than the god themselves are stirring. As we speak, I feel them trying to interfere. The meddling sky fool, of course, and something crueller, ancient. I dare not say its name, but you have to know, hero. When you arrive at Rome, study the tiles."

Percy looked at him, wary. His rational mind told him to wait, to consider, to doubt. His instincts were calling for him to believe. He would listen, at first.

"The one of your dreams, she is cut off from the world, too. Do not attempt to contact her, for her punishments are already severe enough."

Percy's hands clenched.

"Who is it? Who is punishing her?"

Morpheus looked strangely at him, curiosity and something else in his face expression.

"You do not want to know." Percy advanced at him. "Do not antagonize me, hero. I am indebted to you, but I will not hesitate if you disrespect me. Your memories… their methods are not justifiable. I will help you. I will help you in helping me."

Percy scoffed. "Why would I help you?"

Morpheus glared at him. "The dreams are powerful things, fickle demigod. Right now, they are partially the cause of your banishment. I lost control of them after the war…"

Golden ichor came to Percy again. A bolt, a trident, a fork. Skeletons lifted him up.

"… and Hypnos is too busy, trying to cloak the mistake of the Olympians. I need you for a task."

Percy waited.

"My temple in Arizona was occupied. My priests disappeared. But, I feel it is being used. I need you to go there, Perseus. Check what is happening and bring me the altar cloth, if possible. I feel someone entering my realm, but it always drops its torch, shrouds itself and runs. This is crucial, demigod. I acted with discretion at the beginning, but two of the heroes I sent did not return. Zeus could not be reasonable to grant any of my requests of aid. Stuck-up brute."

Percy felt a little confused. "Why do you not go yourself?"

The god looked sideways, his face now worried and grave. Percy felt that this was about a lot more than some simple magical artefact. "I do not know where, exactly, my temple is, Perseus."

Percy stiffened. If the god of dreams himself was being manipulated…

"I do not know how they made it. All the registers are blank. The heroes I sent… I barely remember their faces…"

He turned to Percy, his expression concentrated. "I do not make a light request, Perseus. We are dealing with cruel, revengeful and cunning beings. I need a professional. Your memories may be locked, but I know that you are the same hero."

He turned his back to him. "But I am not ungrateful. I must offer you one last choice." He turned to Percy, again, two flowers in each one of his hand. "Perseus Jack…"

"RED!" Percy had a strange feeling of déjà vu.

Morpheus smiled. "Are you sure, Perseus? I can shroud you in an indestructible cloak. You would wake up rich, successful, free, forever, without nobody knowing."

Perseus closed his eyes. Auburn hair, silver eyes, her laugh, her smile, her voice. Pain came and tried to take it away. But he still remembered the impressions of her.

"I am more than sure. What will I gain with this mission?"

"A viable path to challenge fate, a pledge of my weapons to fight alongside you. A debt."

Percy furrowed his brows.

"I do not want to see those stupid flowers again…"

Laugh resonated around him.

"Duly noted. I offer you something better: I will help you in remembering what you dream."

Percy fixed him a stare. Morpheus knew he already had his hero.

For, if the stories were true, he knew Perseus Jackson would bow to anything that involved her. A reckless and stupid bond, he thought, but, surely, a strong one.

"I'll do it."

Morpheus smiled and the skies turned black.

"Wait for the signs. Whispers of my realm are already telling me that the fates are changing."

Percy began to lose his vision, coldness gripped his heart.

"You will not regret this, Perseus."


	5. Dreams and Legacies

Chapter V – Dreams and Legacies

* * *

Golden lights filled the room, screams of agony reverberated onto the tall walls. Sacred halls destroyed. The flame of the West was barely alight.

He had to run. He had to fight.

"Free me!" The agonized voice implored.

Bright lights. A flash. A pedestal. A man in a purple dress, screaming, begging for help.

The call of the hero. To do what is right.

To fight, for the light. The light, so bright.

The life of a hero. To never give up. To always be strong.

To prepare for the worst, but never do wrong.

Blessings of the divine showed the pathway.

From darkness, evil, he backed away.

He served the Olympians. His sword was law.

Golden cursed blood was the last thing he saw.

Riptide plunged deep, surprise and fear plain on the immortal's colorful eyes.

Like Sally, he loved the color blue. But that was terrifying, a hideous view.

For when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.

Perseus Jackson looked at him, and he looked at Perseus Jackson, his eyes hard, his hands golden. From the sword guard, to the blade, to the chest, to the heart.

He was an assassin. He looked at himself, his own sword bringing his death.

Dirt hands hugged his corpse. His face pale, his body frail.

"Hail!" Came the voice from underneath. "Ave Percy Jackson, the Hero, the Murderer."

"SALVE! The Traitor, the Weak!" His army of corpses replied.

Bony hands rounded him, putting his cape, his crown, disrobing him of his flesh, eating it in front of his eyes.

A pale and bright hand grabbed him by the hem of his shirt.

* * *

"Perseus."

"Perseus, wake up."

"Percy."

"Perseus."

A smile. Someone taking a deep breath.

"I know you are awake, foolish boy. Get up! Come on, or I think we will have roasted jackalope for dinner today."

A hero arose, his smile infectious, his hair a disaster, his green eyes shining. A hug and a kiss. On her forehead of course. She pushed him, looking affectionately at the man.

'Soon, not now', she wishfully thought.

And she turned on the spot, laughing a lot, running from him.

"Catch me if you can, weak man."

"Hey, not fair. Do not run from me."

She climbed a tree. He would not find her here. She waited to see.

And waited, and waited. She went for him.

"Do not run from me please."

His eyes were covered, his hands tied together.

"Percy, I'm here."

"Where are you?"

Shock. Anger. "Can you not hear me?"

"Please, do not flee. Please. Please."

He lowered his head, his tears dampening his blindfold.

She stiffened. Percy did not get wet.

She glared at the skies, the ground, all around.

"It does not matter who you are, I will hunt you."

She looked at the weeping man.

"And I will find you. Resist brave one, and be courageous on this new journey."

She kissed the top of his head and closed her eyes.

An auburn-haired woman woke up, her silver eyes red, her tears wetting her pillow.

She would get him back.

* * *

Percy awoke, trembling. His head was spinning. A good sensation came and went away. A face was marked on his retina. His own. His green eyes cold, his expression unreadable. A word.

Murderer.

Then, he felt something. Light. On the top of his head. His heart beat faster, his breathing became more regular.

He looked around him.

Lupa, that day, had not bothered to wake him up. He remembered the reason. It was time to go. He had already learn how to growl, to glare, to hunt, to feel: the soil, the air, the trees, the trail.

He knew the name of the gods, their strengths, and their weaknesses. He knew the name of the monsters, and where to bite them.

He learned not to show weakness, not to show mercy, to guide his comrades into a battle – of glory and of sacrifice. He learned to obey his superiors, finally. It did not came naturally to him.

Lupa, who was observing him from a corner, chose that moment to come out.

"Percy Jackson, I will not lie to you." She said sitting directly in front of him. "I do not like what your arrival represents for our way of life. I do not like the whimsical manipulations the gods are making. However, if we are to remain strong, we have to place our bets on the courage and bravery of the heroes. The legion awaits you on the south, prepare yourself, and rise. Their hearts falter, I can sense it. The gods chose to take the cowardly way out…"

Thunder exploded in the sky.

"… when not taking the speculative and misguided influences around them as fate's mandate. I am unsatisfied with how things are being handled. By the cohorts, by the bureaucrats, by the gods, by myself."

She looked at the forests around them.

"The times are too trying for me to stay here. Our numbers and forces are lessening. Conspirators hide themselves on our surroundings. It is time for a new foundation be raised." She looked at Percy, with a glint of hardness on her glare.

"And you, Perseus Jackson, will be the cornerstone of a new era."

He wanted to ask her what she wanted him to do.

"Not yet. Wait for me to finish. I do not think you will need to ask any questions. The Gods forbade me to tell you this, but their legacy is falling by their inability. I refuse to myself, by my honor and the honor of my pupils, to send you into a lion pit without you knowing."

Percy remained silent, taking in every word Lupa said to him. Lightning crossed the sky one last time. A warning, Percy felt.

Lupa remained impassive.

"The Romans were strong because they knew when, and how to strike. From a tribe of exiled heroes, we created the greatest Empire of the West. Ambition and lust for power on one hand, prudence with the foreign gods on the other. We adopted them, we bettered them. But we were a legacy of an older civilization. A civilization that formed around the gods, making them kings and masters of nature. The Roman will to dominate and to conquer could not make the Greeks bow. They had roots too deep, too strong. Their heroes were obstinate, stubborn and powerful. We thrived in the collective union and armies. They thrived in the power of their will and the legends of their forefathers. Enemies, from the moment we divided the attention of their gods."

Percy felt something deep within connect to what she was talking. A feeling of connection. Of belonging.

"Perseus Jackson, you will be a Greek among Romans. You were sired by the old powers, the original temple. You will be tested, scolded, scorned. But none of it will matter in the end. Romans understand power, and force. You will have a request, an order from me. You will rise the ranks, you will take control of the armies, you will inspire the administrators and politicians. You will purge Rome from within. If half of my expectations turn out to be true, the legion will have to be prepared. It pains me to ask the heroes such a thing, especially after the last war, but the moment is not of peace. Not yet, at least."

She stared more intensely at him.

"Your dreams... Do not take the visions as final word. Be it the gods, or something more treacherous, they are manipulating the hearts and minds of the soldiers."

His eyes widened. The quest of Morpheus weighed a little more on his shoulders.

"I must know who is poisoning the roots of Rome. I must go east." Her eyes were lost. "And you, hero. Your fate is in the South. Guard my words, heed my council, complete my orders. You have the potential to do it, I am sure of it. The curse of your memories, albeit sordid, will help. Help Rome, help the gods, and help yourself. In the end, of course, for the gods are cruel. Go now, dispose of your orange cloth and march South."

Percy stood up and bowed.

"Yes, Lady Lupa. I will do my best."

Lupa nodded and turned away from him.

He lighted a fire, burned his shirt with the CHB initials. A parting ritual, the start of another stage of his life. He went on to prepare some food before going.

Suddenly, a flash. A child with eyes of fire, looking fondly at him.

And her, again. This time it was just her laughter.

The pain came, and came. He would not forget it.

He resolved not to finish his lunch, offering a good part of his food to the fire, in a quasi-instinctive manner. The cold house became inviting. He felt as if he had received a hug, a warm and affectionate hug. Hope blossomed on his heart. He would help Morpheus, he would remember his dreams. He would fight.

He stood up and began his journey.

Walking through the woodlands never felt so good.


End file.
